


Queen of the Bacchic Rites

by faeyrearcherons



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: F/M, Gen, guess I'll have to do it myself, these two deserve endless fanfics, underrated power couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeyrearcherons/pseuds/faeyrearcherons
Summary: The first love that budded between them was philia – friendship – on the shores of Naxos. After Ariadne had traveled with him for some time their love turned into agape – selfless love – when one mistake by Dionysus  in Thrace almost cost her life. When Dionysus declared himself a god in Thebes, and his cousin-king Pentheus had threatened the maenads with slavery, the young god’s thoughts fell to Ariadne, and his rage turned bordered on mania.
Relationships: Ariadne/Dionysus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ariadne/Dionysus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)/Other(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Queen of the Bacchic Rites

The first love that budded between them was philia – friendship – on the shores of Naxos.

Waking up from his drunken stupor, he heard soft muffled cries. He climbed up the highest marble cliffs to locate that sound. Maybe one of the maenads had gotten lost, but it was a girl – barely into womanhood, staring out into the sea.

Her dress was unusual for these islands – Cretan probably – with vibrant colors and dolphin patterns on her skirt. Her skinned was badly sunburnt and she looked spooked as if he were going to attack her at any moment. This was a girl, he could tell, who had lived a comfortable life.

Judging from her appearance she must at least be a priestess or noblewoman, perhaps even a princess. He did not blame her being so distrustful of him.

Dionysus knew frightened prey when he saw one and did not want her flinging herself off a cliff to escape him. He raised his arms upward. “I swear on the River Styx to not harm you.”

He didn’t need to take the oath, he had never laid a hand on a woman or taken a woman against her will. But the girl visibly relaxed, placated by his sacred oath. The Styx bound gods and mortals alike.

“Who was it that left you behind?” Dionysus asked, gesturing with his chin a receding ship with white sails.

“A man who would face monsters in the dark without hesitation but would hide from a girl’s tears in the sunlight.” 

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” he joked. Many heroes he encountered were not the kindest to women.

The girl’s lips quirked upwards, as if she were suppressing a smile. Her face quickly turned sad again. “I know that a man who would do what he did to me is not a man worth having. I wish I could make him pay, she murmured. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. They were on the highest white marble cliffs of Naxos, and the winds were cold and piercing.

“If you want, I could do that for you,” Dionysus offered. The girl looked at him absolutely confused.

Oh, he hadn’t introduced himself. No wonder she looked at him as if he were a belligerent drunk. To be fair, he had participated in his rites last night drinking in ecstasy and suffered only the mildest hangover. The satyrs and maenads fared worse; he was the first to rise among their drunken stupor.

“I’m Dionysus, god of wine? You’ve probably heard of me,” he said, hand outstretched. He gave her an amiable smile.

The dark-haired girl laughed, but shook his hand anyway, “A pleasure to meet you, ‘Dionysus’. I’m Keroessa, the queen of Byzantium and I’ve come to join you as one of your Bacchae.” She didn’t believe him. He had to prove his divinity, as he had done so with countless others.

Dionysus was a new god and was not worshipped widely. Some cities revered him; others outlawed his maenads from worshipping him; and his birth city – Thebes – questioned the circumstances of his birth. He had travelled to many cities, intent on proving his divinity but had yet to reach his destination of Thebes.

Naxos was just a brief vacation for his followers.

“How about a wager? I’ll grant you a wish, anything you desire. If granted, all I require is a humble apology and your true name.”

The girl looked quizzical, but then again shrugged. What else did she have to lose? He had already sworn to not harm her.

Before he could ask her, she said, “I want you to turn those ships sails black.”

Such a specific request. So harmless, and yet it must carry significance if she is desperate enough to wish for it. Her wish was his command.

“Look behind you,” he said.

Before them was the receding figure of a ship except with black sails. Without a moments hesitation the girl turned the young god in supplication.

“I am Ariadne, princess of Crete. Please accept my humble apology for doubting your divinity.”

Ah, so she must be the daughter of Minos. Dionysus had heard tales of the monstrosity that curses Crete. However, that only raised more questions than answers.

“Apology accepted. What are you doing so far away from home, Princess Ariadne?”

“I’m afraid it’s no longer my home. Crete is dear to my heart but betrayed by my deeds.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” he couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Not right now.” Then she sighed. “Are—are you sure you want to know?”

“When you say it like that, now I really want to know.”

He thought he saw a smile ghost across her face. Ariadne took one last look at the black-sailed ships, growing ever smaller by the horizon.

Dionysus offered his hand, “Come with me. You don’t have to stay any longer than you must. You’ll always be free to go.”

Ariadne’s sharp blue eyes turned to him, “Swear on the River Styx?” she asked. Her smile and crinkled eyes betrayed her. She was only teasing him. Despite the sadness that she wore around herself like a cloak, there was a playfulness to Ariadne.

Dionysus made his second oath to her that day in Naxos. More oaths than to any other mortal.

```

After Ariadne had traveled with him for some time their love turned into agape – selfless love – when one mistake by Dionysus in Thrace almost cost her life. 

Thrace was the first Greek city that had resisted his maenads. Everywhere he went Dionysus offered to become a patron god. He liked to think of himself as a gentlest of the gods. He was almost the most unforgiving.

Lycurgus was a horrific king. He beat servants and animals alike at the slightest offense. Citizens cowered in fear and Dionysus noted scars from various whippings. He didn’t like that. Ariadne shuddered.

“Can we leave?” she murmured. He understood her nervousness, but he had to see this through.

“Soon,” he promised. 

They made their way to the palace, his satyrs to his left and his maenads at his right. The nymphs trailed behind him and Ariadne. Ariadne remained at his side; she was the only human woman in his entourage that wasn’t a maenad. She was more his friend and confidant than a follower and worshipper.

When Dionysus’ entourage reached the palace of Thrace, a dark look swept through Ariadne’s features.

Lycurgus didn’t normally get hundreds of satyrs and nymphs bursting into his reception hall. For a few moments, he was too stunned to act.

Dionysus approached the throne, “King Lycurgus,” he said. “I am Dionysus, the god of wine, and these are my followers. I am humbly offering my patronage to this city in exchange for a construction for a temple to my dedication.”

Palace guards closed in on all sides, surrounding the satyrs, nymphs, and maenads.

“Well, young god, I say you’re a fraud. Seize them all.”

Dionysus knew the instant he made his mistake. His army of followers were prepared for a fight. The satyrs could crush and trample any man, the nymphs could evade capture and the maenads could tear any solider to pieces. He had nothing to worry about. He should have kept his gaze locked on King Lycurgus.

Instead, in that moment, when he should have thought only about inducing madness on the Thracians to give his army an advantage, he looked at Ariadne.

And Lycurgus saw it. “Leave the others, get him and the girl!”

Dionysus roared and raged. Something malevolent shines deep in his violet eyes. He filled the palace walls with ivy, his followers’ eyes turned amethyst and began tearing every Thracian soldier. No mortal weapons could pierce them.

They along with the army of maenads captured King Lycurgus, dragging him kicking and screaming outside the royal palace. Soldiers grabbed his arms, and the maenads grabbed his legs, pulling and pulling until the old king went in four different directions.

In the following days, the countryside withered. Fruit rotted. Bread turned to mold. The water in the wells dried up. turned warm and scummy. Animals were dying, families were starving, and the soldier revolted against the king.

Ariadne came to his side as he watched the city in chaos. When the sun went down, the horizon boiled orange and purple. Ariadne’s favorite colors, the strange thought came to Dionysus.

“Let’s hope we’ll be better welcomed in Thebes,” she said wryly. Always an optimist. Thrace had learned his lesson. If people would not love him as a god, they would fear him as one.

Dionysus stared at the ruined city of Thrace. In time the Thracians would come to worship him more fervently than other cities just because of what was done today.

Ariadne offered her hand, “Come. There’s nothing left for us here.”

Generations later, songs will be told of his dual nature. The young god could be gentle and benevolent and bless you with wine and a good harvest. Or he could curse you with uninhibited madness.

“You’re right,” Dionysus replied and took her hand. Together, side by side, they left the ruined city of Thrace behind.

```

When Dionysus declared himself a god in Thebes, and his cousin-king Pentheus had threated his followers with slavery, the young god’s thoughts fell to Ariadne, and his rage bordered on mania.

The young god took no chance this time, not after the lesson he learned in Thebes. A moment’s hesitation could cost him. It was only by virtue of being his cousin that Pentheus had a few chances to recant and the boy-king squandered them all.

Pentheus, like Lycurgus suffered a similar fate. Every single Greek city-state after that acknowledged Dionysus as the rightful son of Zeus and the youngest of the Olympian gods.

Athens, Thrace, and Thebes paid him even greater honors. Theseus, Lycurgus, and Pentheus all got what they deserved. Mortal kings were foolish to claim a small token of divinity would protect them from a god of madness.

The battle for her heart was heard won. Winning a throne on Olympus was less arduous than the hand in marriage of Ariadne.

He found himself watching her when he didn’t mean to, thinking about her when he didn’t want to. How could they be together? No god had ever married a mortal.

Until one day Ariadne came up to him and confessed her feelings. She had always been a little bit in love with him, ever since he saved her from near death and protected her that day on the shore of Naxos. Over time her feelings, like his, grew into a passion she could no longer smother.

Ariadne’s love for Dionysus first became philia – friendship – during their parties together on Naxos. Agape – selfless love – when she travelled throughout the Mediterranean as the closest thing the young god had to a friend and confidant. When Dionysus claimed his throne as the twelfth Olympian, she fell into a passionate love.

The fates, it seemed, did have a sense of humor. 

He embraced her and spun her around. He kissed her. Suddenly it didn’t matter that no god had ever married a mortal, nothing else mattered. Against all odds, he won her trust and her heart.

“Ariadne,” he said her name reverently, as he his hands gently held her, one at her cheek the other around her waist. “Your wish is my command, my dear. What do you desire?”

Her blue eyes held his gaze. “You. I want to marry you.” Her voice was honest and full of kindness. He kissed her once more. “And so, it shall be,” the young god decreed.

Dionysus was drunk at the wedding obviously. Their hearts were red and raw with love.

Ariadne was his wife for many years, and mother to all his children. His Bacchic rites provided her the nectar of the gods that kept her ageless but not deathless.

Although Zeus knew Ariadne was his mortal wife, he refused to acknowledge her existence. The king of the gods feared only one thing – his wife. Queen Hera did everything in her power to undermine Zeus’ bastard children. Dionysus wasn’t alone. Apollo, Artemis, and Hermes suffered the same treatment.

When Ariadne died so did his last vestiges of sanity. Grief can move anyone, even gods, to madness.

Humbly bowing before the king of queen of the Olympian gods Dionysus said, “Allow me to enter the underworld to retrieve my wife and present her with immortality from the ambrosia of Olympus.”

“Countless others have travelled to the underworld to demand a loved one’s return and all of them have failed,” said Queen Hera in a cool voice.

“I have to try,” Dionysus replied, careful to keep a calm composure. His stepmother Hera could smell weakness like shark and the queen was always thirsty for blood. “As her husband, I have to try. She has been my faithful wife for a century, the mother of my ten sons, and the queen of the Bacchic rites.”

As the goddess of marriage, perhaps Queen Hera would be slightly moved. If not for him, then for Ariadne and their sons.

“The king and queen of the underworld were very generous to when you retrieved your mother many years ago. What makes you think they will grant your wish a second time?” Queen Hera countered.

_If only she knew._

“I have no guarantees my second wish will be granted,” he replied.

Zeus, who had been silent throughout the whole exchange looked at Hera, his face carefully blank. After a few agonizing seconds, she gave a terse nod.

“My son, you have our permission to travel to the underworld for your purpose of retrieving your mortal wife. However, the underworld is Hades’ and Persephone’s realm. We cannot promise your safety as we have no power over the dead,” Zeus decreed.

Perhaps Zeus understood, even a little bit, what Ariadne was to Dionysus.

Dionysus bowed to Zeus and Hera. Without a backwards glance he headed off to his first father and his first mother, the loving parents he had when he was called another name, before he was torn to shreds and was twice born.

Hades and Persephone.

```

Dionysus walked into the throne room as if he belonged there, flanked by white leopards and golden lions. He had once belonged in the underworld, he thought belatedly.

"I have come for Ariadne, daughter of Minos," Dionysus said as he bowed to the king and queen of the Underworld. "Nothing here is yours," Hades said curtly. "This realm is ours. Those who are still living do not belong here, much less new gods."

Queen Persephone laid a hand on her husbands’ arm and he softened. Dionysus was right to come when she was in the underworld, she was always good at settling her husband’s moods.

“What will you give us in return?” Persephone asked.

As much as they wanted to indulge him, the King and Queen of the underworld had to remind themselves this new, young god was no longer their son. Hades and Persephone had not been his father and mother for a long time. When the Titans tore Zagreus to pieces, their son died, and Dionysus was born.

“All the blood I can spill to nourish your earth. Ariadne lived for a century and so for the next century anyone my maenads tear to pieces will be dedicated for you. Their blood will nourish the underworld” he says.

He watches as the rulers of the underworld glance at one another. The curl of Hade’s lips is cruel. Persephone is charmed.

“Perhaps there’s still a bit a Zagreus left in you,” Hades says, and Dionysus knows he’s won.

````

“ _And golden-haired Dionysus made brown-haired Ariadne, the daughter of Minos, his buxom wife: and the son of Cronos made her deathless and unageing for him._ ”

\- Hesiod, _Theogony_


End file.
